


When I Think About You

by HeadLadyInquisitor



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Guilt, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6154348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadLadyInquisitor/pseuds/HeadLadyInquisitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you know the rest of that line, you know what this fic is about. Gift fic for theRadioStarr, featuring her Inquisitor, Lupa Lavellan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Think About You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theRadioStarr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theRadioStarr/gifts).



Cullen prided himself on being a man of discipline. But this - unlacing his trousers and wrapping his fingers around his shaft like a randy teenager while his mind overflowed with lascivious thoughts about his superior - was _not_ something men of discipline did. At least, that’s what he kept trying to tell himself. **  
**

He was no stranger to the occasional… daydream when it came to Lupa, but until now he had done so _well_ at stamping such imaginings down in favor of professionalism. She was the _Inquisitor_ , and he would do her the respect of thinking of her as such.

It was that Maker damned _letter_ that put him in this state.

It was simple, concise, largely professional, with a hint of the easygoing friendliness that came so naturally to her. She merely meant to update her advisors on her mission. She and her companions had arrived in the Western Approach and would be setting out to explore the area further the following day. “ _But_ Creators, _is it hot_ ,” she had written. “ _I envy Bull - at least he doesn’t have a shirt to sweat through._ ”

The images that sentence put in his head were… ‘inappropriate’ seemed an understatement.

Lupa, covered in a light sheen of sweat, panting quietly as her body overheats.

Lupa, retiring to her tent at the end of the day, stripping off damp leathers for just a bit of relief.

Lupa, pants turning to whimpers and moans as she writhes under him-

_Cut that out_ right now, _Rutherford_.

He groaned and flopped back onto his bed, wrenching his hand out of his smalls. He would _not_ lie there and stroke himself to fantasies of the Inquisitor. Maker, would he even be able to meet her eyes again if he did?

His cock twitched, as if he needed a reminder that it was still there, and still hard. Cullen growled and shoved his trousers and smalls down his legs. If he _had_ to take care of this, he would do so quickly and-

He gripped his shaft, and there she was again, in his mind’s eye as clear as if she were standing before him. A shy smile, a tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. And even without her here, he was powerless.

_So much for that._

His lungs deflated in a sigh as he accepted his fate. A slow stroke from base to tip and he shuddered, not having allowed himself this indulgence in… weeks, maybe? He spread the bead of precum gathered at the tip with a swipe of his thumb and gave the head a gentle squeeze. A groan rumbled through his chest as he found a steady rhythm, trying and failing to focus on _anything_ but the Inquisitor.

_‘What would her mouth feel like?’_ his traitorous mind wondered. Would she be hesitant? Testing and teasing and tasting to learn the shape of him and what he liked best? Or would she be more confident, swallowing the whole length of him in one smooth motion?

Either way, he would want to watch her, that he knew. It was almost startling, the clarity with which he could imagine her blue eyes staring up at him, dark with lust as she worked his cock in her mouth. He moaned, louder than usual, as he twisted his fist along his shaft, hips beginning to thrust up into his grip, practically of their own volition.

_Maker’s breath_ , but he wanted her.

Cullen dragged his nails down his chest and stomach - the way he wished she would - and cupped his sac as he stroked himself more fervently. He paused to hastily spit into his hand before going back to work, mimicking the feel of Lupa’s mouth.

_Or - sweet Andraste - her sex._

He’d never allowed his idle fantasies to progress that far, but now he found he couldn’t muster up the guilt to stop himself. What would she look like, under him, over him, _surrounding him_ with her heat? He found himself particularly taken with the image of her straddling his hips, riding him - _using_ his cock to chase her pleasure. Perhaps she would pinch those tight nipples or rub her swollen bud to heighten the sensations - or perhaps she would let him take care of those things for her. A groan escaped him - what he wouldn’t _give_ to touch her so.

What little control he had left fell away in the face of these fantasies. Harder and harder, he began thrusting into his fist, the wet sounds of his ministrations mingling with grunts and pants and the creaking of his bed frame. His toes curled and he wished _desperately_ for a body - _her body_ \- to bring him this pleasure instead of his hand. He could practically see her arching and bouncing above him, reaching her own peak as he neared his. What would she _sound_ like at the end? Would she gasp, scream, moan for him? Would she cry out his name?

_Oh Maker_ , he wanted her crying out his name.

It was that thought that pushed him over the edge, _her_ name on his lips as he spilled his seed all over his chest and stomach. He stroked himself through the last of it, slowing to a stop when he was finally spent. Relaxing into the bed, boneless with satisfaction, he idly noted that he hadn’t come that hard since… he couldn’t remember.

Cullen groaned, throwing an arm over his face as if to hide his shame. He was in _big_ trouble.


End file.
